Neuropath (31 page)

'It's not like the movies,' Thomas said, standing over the slumped form. 'He needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. He could be reall—'

'I don't know about you,' his neighbor said, 'but I came to bet on Frankie.'

The most Thomas could do was nod. Control was slipping.

They passed two nightshirt nurses who seemed too caught up gossiping to notice their presence. The air in the elevator was fever-hot. They stared like idiots at the Air France commercial on the screen. Thomas found himself looking for the embedded sexual cues that all advertisers used to catch wandering eyes. A millisecond glimpse up a business traveller's skirt. The background cleavage of two teenage backpackers stowing their overhead gear. All of it sealed with a family-friendly smile.

Like an idiot, Thomas found himself thinking,
Come fly the fuckable sky
…

The elevator doors rattled open.

Thomas beamed a tired smile at the neurological observation unit's duty nurse—a once-pretty woman named Skye, if he remembered correctly. He leaned over the counter to swallow as much of her periphery as he could. He could neither hear nor see Mia, which was a good thing.

'Professor Bible,' she said, her voice silky with compassion. She knew he was divorced, and with professional women now vastly outnumbering men—the 'Great Gender Role Reversal' the pundits were calling it—guys like Thomas, ones who had actually studied in college rather than turfing out in a haze of dope and video games, were something of a rare commodity.

He played the part. The exhausted father, the grieving father, desperate for feminine comfort and support. One who flirted because he had nothing else, no other spark to warm his thick, ringless fingers…

A monitor alerted her that Frankie had been disconnected. She looked up in almost comical alarm.

'Is that Frankie?' he asked with feigned horror.

'H-his sedative must have worn off.'

He chose that moment to swing the backpack onto the counter before her.

'Don't move!' he barked.

Of course she froze; it was instinct.

'You know about directed motion detectors, don't you, Skye?—don't nod! Just blink if you understand me.'

Two tears fell when she did so, inking her cheeks with mascara.

'Well, one of them is aimed right at you… and it's connected to a bomb in this bag. Any movement or loud noise could set it off. Even your lips. Do you understand?'

Again tears accompanied her blink. She was shaking like a little human centrifuge, enough to trigger a dozen shopping-mall doors. Nausea wheeled through Thomas—from the shame, he imagined, though Neil's pills had Saran Wrapped his every emotion.

He leaned back from the counter, slowly, as though scared of his own diabolical device. He saw Mia running down the hall with Frankie. He took his unconscious boy in his arms.

He held his little body tight. Kissed his cheek. Sobbed against his shaved scalp.

So long as I hold him. So long as I never let him go.

They dressed Frankie in a fumbling panic. Thomas silently thanked nobody that he had remembered to bring his velcro shoes. They did a passable job making a discreet, nonchalant exit. Every nurse they passed smiled at the sight of Frankie slumbering in his arms. One man, a custodian, whispered, 'Long day, huh?' An attractive doctor said, 'He's a beautiful little monkey, isn't he?' She even laughed and wiped drool from Thomas's shoulder with her sleeve. 'Such a
sound
sleeper.'

Once again, Thomas silently thanked nobody, this time for having the foresight to bring Frankie's Jersey Devils cap. With his scalp shaved and bandaged, she would have realized something was up.

It was strange, strolling and smiling while his heart lunged in terror. His skin tingled, as though rubbed raw by the catastrophic possibilities that surrounded him. But by the time they made it to the unattended lobby, Thomas felt something akin to criminal glee.

Twenty steps
, he thought, staring at the doors and the concrete darkness beyond them,
and we're home free
…

Fifteen steps, and we're home free…

They trotted down the stairs.

Ten steps…

They passed the metal detector, waded through the turnstile.

We made it, Frankie! This is going to work!

They pressed through the doors into the hot night, stopped dead in their tracks. All they could hear was the deep, over-the-horizon thrum of the surrounding city.

The police cruiser's lights seemed to click as they spun, but it was just a trick of the eyes.

'Sorry-sorry!' Mia cried, bounding to the curb. The officer, who was probing the Toyota's interior with a flashlight, turned in alarm.

Thomas could only hug his boy's tiny body tight. Control had evaporated. He kissed his warm neck, then sobbed once, twice, against his little shoulder. He could hear Mia's insistent voice, then suddenly he was blinking against the flashlight.

'Not cool,' he heard Mia say to the cop. '
Nawt
cool.'

'Sorry,' the officer said. 'You two take care.'

Then Mia was beside him, disentangling Frankie from his arms. 'C'mon. It's okay, Tom.
Ups-a-daisy…
'

Somehow Thomas ended up behind the wheel, while Mia tried to secure Frankie in the back seat. Wiping his nose on his blazer sleeve, Thomas slowly accelerated down the street. He felt like an ant pulling away from a tombstone.
Please
…

The first police cruiser picked them up before they hit the fourth city block. The siren fairly kicked the breath out of Thomas's lungs.

'Not-good-not-good-not-good,' Mia muttered.

Thomas turned the vehicle slowly, not quite able to process what was happening.

'What are you doing?' Mia cried.

'I hit the blinker.'

'I can see that. You afraid we might lose them or something?'

Thomas sped down the side street. Then swerved to the right down a thoroughfare. Again he hit the blinker.

'Are you kidding me? You worried about a traffic ticket?'

'I can't help it!' Thomas cried. 'It's habit. Conditioning.'

He screeched to the left, this time without hitting the blinker.

'Faster!' Mia cried. 'Faster!'

Thomas hit the blinker and yanked the SUV right.

'Jeeesuz fucking Christ!' Mia howled. 'Tommy, I love you like a neighbor, but I will so fucking tear you another asshole if you don't. Fucking. Speed.
Up
,'

'I can't help it! I'm a little neurotic when it comes to driving.'

'A little? You make OJ look like Jimmy Dean!'

'So I'm a lot neurotic.'

'But you're a psychologist!'

'What? You think I went to school to figure out why
other
people are so screwed up?'

'Pull into that alley there! Pull into there!'

At least this time he didn't hit the blinker. The alley was narrow—too narrow to open doors. Thomas drifted into the left wall, cried out as the mirror exploded from the side of the Toyota. The exit neared.

'Brake!' Mia was shouting. 'Brake! Stop the fucking car!'

Thomas stomped on the brakes. The police cruiser screeched to a halt behind them.

'Now pull forward until our doors are clear,' Mia said. 'Pull forward!'

Thomas did as he was told. When the doors were clear Mia opened his. 'Get the fuck out,' he cried. 'Switch seats! Quickly!'

Thomas popped from the driver's seat, glanced back at the cops stranded behind them. They looked thunderstruck in a shaft of streetlight. He rushed past Mia in the headlights, rounded the hood, grabbed the door only to have it yanked from his hands. He heard a crunch and squealing tires, then toppled to the pavement. The cops had decided not to wait, had bulldozed the SUV clear. Mia pulled the Toyota to the right. Thomas stood just in time to get knocked onto the cruiser's hood.

Frankie
, something inside him cried.

He rolled off the hood as the cruiser braked. He scrambled to his hands and knees, ready to dash off on foot. But there was a thump, the whish of exploding glass, and the cruiser's headlights were replaced by the Toyota's profile.

'Get in! Get in!' Mia was crying. 'Get the
fuck
in!'

Then he was in the passenger seat, his whole body shaking, the whole world flashing past the windshield. Another cruiser screeched into the intersection before them, blocking it. Mia gunned the SUV.

'
Noooooooo
? Thomas cried.

The impact threw him against the dash, but for some reason it seemed miraculously minor. The Toyota wobbled, then barreled down the street, stable as a spinning pigskin.

'Frankie!' Thomas cried, nearly diving into the back. Frankie had slipped through the belts, fallen onto the floor behind Mia's seat. He was still unconscious, but seemed otherwise unhurt. Thomas sat him upright, did his best to buckle him in. He glanced through the rear window, saw flashing lights through dark, canyon streets.

'Fuck,' Mia was saying, 'they're green-lighting us!'

'What?'

'All the lights in Manhattan are run by AI now. To improve response times they red-light interfering traffic and green-light emergency vehicles. And in situations like ours…'

'But that's good, isn't it? It means we won't hurt anybody.'

'But it means we're fucked too. So long as they keep feeding us greens they know exactly where we are, where we're going.'

'What are we going to do?'

'You see a grey leather case back there? You know, Bill's case!'

'Yeah, why?'

'Open it up.'

Thomas fumbled behind his seat, fished out the case. He clicked it open.

'Is his TV in there?'

Thomas pulled the panel out. 'TV?' he asked.

'Birthday present,' Mia snapped. 'Don't ask. Just turn it on.'

Sure enough, he saw a helicopter shot of Manhattan, alternating between dark natural light and the whites and greys of FLIRR—forward-looking infrared radar. '…
to recap, then
,' a tinny voice was saying, '
we're following an old model, black Toyota SUV along
—'

'How did you know?'

'Got another bad OJ vibe,' Mia said sourly. 'But this is good. It gives us information.'

'They're setting something up ahead of us!' Thomas shouted. 'Something to take out our tires.'

'Like my papa always said, 'Mia cried, '"Son, ya cain't outroon the frickin' ray-deeooo…"' Without warning, he yanked the Toyota right so hard Thomas nearly rolled onto his lap.' "Unless ya gawt woon yerself…"'

The city was a whirring tunnel, a cylindrical swarm of light and streaking blackness.

'Mia! What the fuck! What are you doing?'

'Is this for keeps?' Mia shouted. 'Are we playing for keeps, Tommy?'

'My son'… What are you talking about?'

'This is for keeps, right?'

'Yes… Yes! But what are—'

'Look. I'm so scared I'm blowing bubbles out my ass, but if this is for keeps, if we really have to do this to save Frankie, then we're going to hafta take some risks.'

'Take some risks? What the hell do you call this?'

'Softball,' Mia muttered, yanking the car hard right once again.

Oh my word
, a miniature voice chirped.

What do you make of that, Delores?

Well, Jim, things seem to have become more desperate. It was almost as though they sensed the trap the NYPD had set for them. I gotta tell you, though, the fact they're driving an SUV makes me that much more nervous.

And why's that?

Because of the higher center of
—
Jim? You got the bird's eye view up there? What are they doing now
?

I'm not sure, Delores. It looks like they've…

Static punctuated by voices in the background.

Jim? Jim? For those of you just joining us, our Fox
5
Newsnet Chopper is covering a dramatic police pursuit through the Upper West Side. Reports say that the two men in the vehicle have abducted, I repeat, abducted, a child patient from
—

Delores? Delores?

Yes, Jim, we can hear you.

I just asked Johnny Pharo, our expert chopper pilot, and he agrees that yes, the vehicle has entered the 207th Street Subway Yard.

Why would they do that, Jim?

We're not sure, Delores… Perhaps to take advantage of their four-wheel capability.

I see them, Jim. My word, are they on the tracks?

Yes, Delores, it would appear that they're on the tracks. Johnny seems to think
—

Put Johnny on for a moment, if you could, Jim. Johnny Pharo, for those of you who are not familiar with our Fox 5 Skyteam, is an expert pilot and a decorated veteran of the Iraq
—

Oh my… Are you getting this, Delores?

Yes, Jim. What's happened? Did you lose them?

No, Delores. They lost us! It would seem, ladies and gentleman, that they have entered the subway. I repeat, the black Toyota SUV being pursued by New York's finest, has just driven into the subway…

They'd barreled down 10th Avenue so fast that the Toyota began shaking from the inside out. Then Mia was yanking them right down some side street, then left, smashing through a parking gate. Thomas cried out as he gunned the 4x4 across a lot peppered with parked cars and into what seemed a towering chain-link fence. It fell away like rotten fabric, though for an instant, razor wire looped and thrashed across the hood and windshield. There was an instant of zero gravity, the Harlem horizon dipped out of view, then a deafening thud, and they were bouncing over gravel and weeds, between stacked industrial spools, chattering over tracks, past night-silver subway cars, and Mia jerked them left once again, into a square maw of black cut into a cinder-block wall…

The SUV danced like a stub-legged bronco. Pale lights lined the darkness before them, falling away like pearls dropped into the abyss. They were in the subway! Each time they careered into a wall, glass shattered, worlds screamed.